


A Sure Surprise

by reason_says



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-18
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-21 12:03:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/597544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reason_says/pseuds/reason_says
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Victor Vega through the years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Sure Surprise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elfwreck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfwreck/gifts).



Victor Vega had never liked his brother much, and getting into the same line of work hadn’t changed that. Their parents assured them, loudly, that there was a time when they got along, hung out together, had fun, but neither brother could remember it. All Vince remembered was being picked on by his little brother, which everyone knew wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen. He was supposed to be the tormenter, he wasn’t supposed to wake up with dead frogs in his bed or worry about ground glass mixed with his peanut butter. He wasn’t supposed to, but he did, and he grew tough in self-preservation until his fighting got him kicked out of school and he’d convinced himself that hired gun jobs were the only ones he was suited for.

And all Vic remembered, when he bothered to think about his childhood, was that Vince was funny when he screamed.

Over time, he would discover that a lot of people were funny when they screamed. He liked that about people. It was one of the few things, in fact, that he _did_ like. People were too loud, they said things that didn’t make sense, and they didn’t understand him any more than he did them, but at least they were entertaining.

As he grew, he learned to fake the reactions others had and would expect him to have. He learned to act sad when the neighbor’s fish were found on skewers in their kitchen, to feign shock when the shed behind the school burned down, and to smile pleasantly at Vince when their parents told them how lucky they were to have each other. He made it through some awfully sticky situations by virtue of his ability to pretend to care that he was in them.

And when he was fifteen years old he met Eddie Cabot, who showed him there was more to life than pretending.

Everyone in school more or less knew that Eddie’s dad was a shady character, but most people assumed he was just involved in drugs. The teachers were careful around him, but Eddie was nice enough, if not the brightest, so the other kids didn’t shut him out. Of course, no one invited him home, either. No one wanted to take the risk.

Vic, on the other hand, was entirely sick of not taking risks by the time they met. He’d been watching Eddie from a distance for nearly a year before he decided to introduce himself, trying to get a feel for the strange kid who seemed like he just might be his ticket to a different life, one where he could do something constructive with his particular skills. Or, if not constructive, at least lucrative.

And so he set about becoming friends with Eddie, sliding into the seat next to him at lunch and laughing at his jokes – which were occasionally actually funny – and never inviting him home, because if Eddie ever met Vince he’d know what Vic was like, and that he just couldn’t have. It was very important that Eddie learn in his own time, or not at all; he had to trust Vic, so Vic, for once in his life, set about being trustworthy.

It helped that the other students didn’t much like either of them.

“I don’t think I got any enemies or crap like that, you know what I mean? But Daddy says it ain’t high school if you don’t end up shoved in a trash can, unless you’re shovin’ somebody else.”

“You seem like you’re doing all right by yourself,” Vic remarked, stealing the last bite of Eddie’s burrito.

“Yeah, well, when your old man’s basically a crime lord, word gets out not to hurt his feeb of a son.”

“You’re not-”

“Ah, don’t gimme that. You’re my friend and all, but don’t lie and tell me I’m smart. I’m just smart enough to know the only reason people don’t hate me is that they think Daddy’ll send someone after’em.”

Vic had to admit that seemed likely. Good-natured as Eddie was, there wasn’t much to recommend him as a classmate. “Would he, though?”

“Not even!” Eddie snorted. “Getting in a fight would probably make him think I was a real man or something, even if I lost. He’d be way too happy to care who did it.”

Vic considered that. “I might be able to give you some pointers, if you want. I mean, if you don’t mind hurting people.”

“What, are you kidding? I’d love it! It’s not like I can ever be the brains of the operation, I might as well be the muscle, right?”

“Let’s not go that far just yet,” Vic chuckled. “Meet me by the track after school and I’ll give you a few tips, maybe your dad’ll get a clue.”

In this way, they both got through high school. Vic started staying over at Eddie’s house most weekends, when his parents were out drinking and wouldn’t care anyway, and he casually ingratiated himself into the Cabot household. Mr. Cabot, who told Vic to call him Joe or not bother coming back, was a loud man whose phone was constantly ringing when he was home, and who was often called away on what Eddie called “Business”, air-quotes and all. There appeared to be a legitimate factor to his dealings, but more often than not Eddie wasn’t allowed to ask where he was going, in case the wrong person heard. Vic, for his part, drank everything in.

Since there was never any chance of either of them going to college, Joe called them both into his downtown office a week after graduation.

“Now boys, I know you’re both pretty much expecting start working for me, and I’m not saying you won’t. But there are a few things I need you to do first, to prove your loyalty and abilities and that kinda shit. You get me?”

Eddie seemed about to protest until Vic nudged him, and they both nodded.

“Good.” Joe pulled a manila folder from his desk drawer and slid it across to where Vic and Eddie were sitting. “This here’s the outline of your part in our next job. Study it, do what it says, and you’ll be on your way in.” He leaned back, his chair creaking. “Now get out of here.”

The plan itself wasn’t that complicated, or at least the part that Joe let them see wasn’t, but it called for Eddie to steal a car and Vic to bleach his hair. Vic had pretty good control over what few emotions he had, but he found himself with an unpleasant squirming sensation in his stomach as he waited for the bleach to set, and for Eddie’s reaction.

He wasn’t disappointed.

“Oh man, Vic, you should see yourself!” Eddie howled, practically clutching his stomach with the hilarity of it all. “You look like a total freak, I’d barely recognize you!”

Vic rolled his eyes. “You finished?”

“Yeah, sure, Blondie. Hey, you don’t mind if I call you Blondie, right?”

Vic pointed the hair dryer at him in a mockery of menace. “You’re lucky I like you. No, you can’t fuckin’ call me Blondie, that’s a girl’s name.”

“Right, right, like that comic strip. Just Blond, then?”

“Whatever floats your boat, man.” Vic paused. “Actually, yeah, I like that. Blond. Vic Blond. Like I’m a secret agent or some shit.”

“See? It works!” Eddie stood up. “Now let’s wash that shit outta your hair before it all burns off.”

The job, such as it was, went smoothly, and Joe officially put Vic and Eddie on the payroll. As soon as Joe let him know it was no longer needed, Vic shaved his head to get rid of the blond.

By the time Joe asked him to kill someone, Vic had already racked up at least four bodies on his own. He wasn’t sure whether to count the ones who died while he was playing with them, thinking that might be cheating, but he’d personally and purposefully killed four people already when Joe, with more hesitation in his voice than Vic was used to hearing, approached him and asked if he would be all right with it.

“I don’t need any details, Vic. All I want to know is, can you do this for me?”

Vic nodded in satisfaction, allowing himself a smirk but otherwise confirming nothing. “I can try, Joe. You want any other things to happen to them, or just death?”

Joe chuckled. “Just death this time. Answer your phone at midnight and someone’ll give you the details.”

Waiting for the phone to ring, Vic allowed himself some time to think over his last targets, and to think about what he might have to do differently this time.

Victim one had been a homeless man. By far the least fun of his kills, but Vic put that down to inexperience. You lure a guy into a shed with the promise of food and a place to stay for the night, you gotta make sure the shed’s set up so he won’t think anything’s suspicious. Otherwise he makes a break for it and you find yourself having to knock him out before you can even get started.

So that was lesson one.

Victim two was some pervert he met in the woods, on vacation. Vic took him apart with the tools the man had been planning to use on the little girl who was with him, but not before he sent the girl home with a promise that everything would be all right. It wasn’t a promise he could necessarily keep, but it was important that people think they were safe. Especially when he was around. He hoped she hadn’t heard the man’s screams as she was running away.

So lesson two was to make sure you weren’t where anyone could catch you, and to make do with the tools your environment – or victim – gave you. No sense carrying anything you could get arrested for if you weren’t sure you’d need it.

Victim three was a cop, one Joe had implied was getting too close to the operation. Vic didn’t think Joe had been hinting when he mentioned as much in his presence, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t take care of the problem anyway. He was pretty proud of that one, because all it took was a little flirting and he got close enough to lift the cop’s gun. After that it was no problem to shoot him, wipe his fingerprints off, and put the gun back in the holster.

No lessons needed on that one, except maybe wear a jacket you can take off if you get traceable gunpowder – or blood – on it.

Victim four was the first time he took Eddie along. He knew Eddie would have to get used to killing in order to be an effective member of Joe’s organization, and it had been long enough that he thought his friend – because they had, at some point, become real friends – should know the truth. And what better introduction to the ways of the world than to watch a man kill his stepfather?

His mother wasn’t home, but he didn’t have to worry about cleaning up after himself, because she was the one who’d asked him to do it. The woman really did have the worst taste in men, he thought, as he drilled through Phillip’s wrists and into the kitchen wall. The first one left her for the girl he was cheating with, and this one beat her. He gave her credit for asking for help, though.

 _She’d come to the right guy this time_ , he thought, as he stepped back to survey his work. His mother would get enough from the asshole’s life insurance that he didn’t feel bad about ruining the wall, but he didn’t want to go too far with Eddie standing behind him. He didn’t want his only friend and the reason he had a job to get freaked out and leave, after all. He’d carefully let slip, in small portions, information about his proclivities and relative lack of conscience, but he wasn’t sure how far he could take it.

As it turned out, he didn’t need to worry. As soon as he put the final bullet in Phillip’s head, he felt Eddie’s hands on his shoulders, spinning him around. As the gun clattered to the floor, he heard Eddie laughing.

“That was amazing! I knew you were kinda messed up, but you never told me it went this deep!” He still hadn’t let go of Vic’s shoulders. “I get why you didn’t tell me, but damn, I wish you had. This is great.” And before Vic knew what was happening, Eddie’s lips were pressed against his own.

_Oh._

_This was interesting._

Vic allowed himself to kiss back, to shrug his arms free of Eddie’s grip and wrap them around his frame. He tried to stay in control of himself, to think from a distance about how this had happened, when he had never expected anything like it. But then Eddie’s thigh insinuated itself between his, and he pulled back.

“Not that I’m complaining, you understand, but what brought this on?”

“What, a guy can’t kiss his best friend for no reason?” Eddie glanced to the side. “I don’t know, you’re really hot when you’re killing people, apparently. Maybe I’m a fag for murderers. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“Honestly? I kinda want to. But,” he jerked a thumb over his shoulder, “maybe not when the corpse of my stepdad is staring at us, huh?”

Eddie giggled, then looked embarrassed. “That’s a decent idea, yeah.”

They cleaned themselves up after that, and Vic broke a window to fake forced entry before calling his mother from a payphone to let her know it was OK to come home and feign horror. No one had ever suspected her, and she was now living comfortably free from abusers. They didn’t talk much anymore, for some reason.

Back at Vic’s apartment, despite their most sincere intentions, not much talking actually got done before the clothes came off. So the only lesson to be learned from victim number four, as far as Vic could see, was “Bringing a friend with you when you kill people gets you laid.” As lessons went, he could live with that one.

As it turned out Vic was nearly asleep when the phone rang, and a voice he didn’t recognize didn’t sound impressed with his groggy tone. But he got the name anyway, and a tip on where to find the guy off his guard. He considered asking Eddie if he wanted to tag along this time too, but decided it was better, on his first official kill for Joe, not to involve the boss’ kid. Even though they were both in their twenties and had proven they could take care of themselves, he didn’t want to overstep a line. Just in case.

So the next day he slipped his street-legal knife into the holster he’d made in his boot, left a note on the table in case Eddie dropped by, and went to make his appointment. The guy put up a disappointing fight, barely swinging at Vic before he was being bundled into his trunk and driven to the basement of an abandoned factory Joe owned. 

Nothing extra, Joe had said, so Vic dispatched of this guy fairly quickly, only taking a couple fingers off before sinking the knife into his throat and jumping out of the way of the spray. No one ever came to the factory – Joe kept it abandoned for a reason – so there was no need to worry about cleanup. He pocketed the fingers before wiping his knife off on the guy’s jeans, and made his way home.

After that, he found notes under his door about once a month. Sometimes he was in Eddie’s office when Joe decided he needed someone gone, and he’d tell Vic himself. After one time too many almost getting caught with their hands down each other’s pants, Vic and Eddie decided to save the horseplay for one or the other’s apartment, but Vic still visited Eddie at work. After all, they were best friends.

Not that Vic was sure what a “best friend” was, since Eddie was the only friend he’d ever had. He thought that probably had something to do with being more or less raised a criminal, and thus being more accepting of Vic’s… whatever-he-was. Another thing Vic had never quite figured out. He didn’t think he counted as a serial killer, and he’d helped Joe out with enough jobs to figure he could be called a regular crook, but what he’d never cared much about – until Eddie brought it up – was _why_. It couldn’t be his upbringing, because plenty of guys grew up with drunks for parents without torturing homeless men. And he liked Eddie, even if he didn’t like anyone else, so he couldn’t just be a sociopath, right? He was pretty sure that’s not how they worked. He just couldn’t figure it out, and mostly decided not to bother.

But things were working out. He wasn’t killing that often, mostly just backing up Joe’s other guys in case a job went south and sometimes pulling smash-and-grabs when they needed someone who wouldn’t rattle. Eddie’d been making his way into bigger and bigger jobs, as Vic talked him up to Joe and made the old man see that his son was worth more that he thought. Things were going smooth.

And then, one day, he just plain fucked up. He got caught off his guard in one of Joe’s holding warehouses, full of lifted shit he hadn’t gotten around to reselling. He’d been dropping off his take, but didn’t get out quite fast enough. Oh, the judge wanted to know whose warehouse it was, what he’d been doing there, but he clammed up. No way in hell was he gonna squeal on Joe, not when Joe’d done so much for him. He knew this was his own fault. 

Victim number two, lesson number two, don’t let yourself be anywhere you can be caught. He’d fucking ignored it, and now he was behind bars for eight years, maybe four if he behaved himself. Sure, he’d behave. He’d be the model fucking prisoner if he could get parole out of it. And he knew that when he got out, Joe and Eddie would be waiting for him.


End file.
